


The Raven and the Fae

by incurableinsanity



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Maleficent (2014) Fusion, Fantasy, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Magic and Curses, Shapeshifting, WinterHawk Big Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 19:10:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7945849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incurableinsanity/pseuds/incurableinsanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky will make the humans pay for stealing his wings. He will get his revenge by cursing the king’s child, forcing the king lose something just like he did to Bucky. Nothing else matters.</p><p>But, there’s also the raven, Clint, whose life he saved, and there’s Steve, the child he cursed. It turns out love comes in all kind of forms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Raven and the Fae

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Winterhawk Big Bang 2016
> 
> Super lovely art done by brightestcrayonsart, which can be found [here](http://brightestcrayonsart.tumblr.com/post/149918772828/my-half-of-an-entry-for-the-winterhawk-big-bang)
> 
> While it's a movie fusion, you don't need to know anything about the movie to follow the story :)

He wakes in the morning, slow, sluggish, and a weight missing. His back hurts, and by the time his mind finally clears, he realizes too little too late that he’s been betrayed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bucky watches the water that glides through the air above him, guided by the silver magic at his fingertips. The water reflects the light of the early morning sun, making small rainbow patches on tree branches.

Bucky smiles, guides the water back the river at the bottom of his cliff, and drops from his branch. His wings, dark brown, large, and powerful, catch the air as they spread and he soars into the morning air. He makes morning rounds, greeting those he catches the eyes of. They mostly wave in greeting, but some yawn, just waking up.

He navigates the trees in full bloom, swings by the river, his hand skimming the crystal clear water, and dodging the Mud Slingers with a cocksure grin and a short laugh. He makes a hard turn at one of the many waterfalls that come from the mountains, taking in the morning scene.

The Moors are always beautiful, but there’s something about them at this time of day.

Eventually he slows and descends to the earth, soft grass tickling his bare feet. He watches as some of the Water Pixies tend to the flowers lining the river until he hears a shout.

“James!” He turns, spotting three pint-sized Fairies coming close.

“Thor, Jane, Darcy,” Bucky quirks a lopsided smile. He doesn’t bother correcting the name; the three have never even tried calling him Bucky. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s someone at the entrance,” Jane says, “An intruder!”

“Intruder?”

“Yeah,” Darcy nods fiercely, “The Tree Warriors got him though! Except he’s holed up in a cave and they can’t get him out.”

“Well, what’s he doing here?”

“He took several jewels from the pond,” Thor tells him, unsurprisingly serious. Though he’s usually jovial, Thor doesn’t and won’t tolerate thieves.

“Okay, I’ll go check it out,” Bucky says and takes off. He thinks the burst of air knocks the other three off balance, but they’ll be alright. He hears their indignation and suppresses the laugh that threatens to burst.

Quickly enough, he spots the Tree Warriors standing guard, and lands gently to the ground, his wings keeping him steady as per usual.

“Are they in there?” Bucky asks softly, and one of the Warriors gestures to the opening. Bucky calls, “Come out at once; we don’t want to hurt you.”

“No way,” A voice, distinctly male, shouts back. The voice sounds defensive, angry. “You’ll hurt me!”

“No we won’t,” Bucky replies. “We just want our things back, and then we will escort you out of the Moors.”

There’s a moment of prolonged silence. The Tree Warriors shift in anticipation. Bucky starts to think he will have to go in there when the voice finally says,

“I’m coming out.” Bucky gestures for the Warriors to step back, and they lower their weapons reluctantly. One of them huffs in irritation. Bucky shoots them a grateful smile. Slowly but surely, a human steps out, peeking at the Tree Warriors carefully and warily.

Bucky notes, “You’re only a boy, aren’t you? Not fully grown?”

“Well, so are you,” The boy says. Bucky concedes the point with a nod and then holds out his hand. The boy is reluctant, but when one of the Tree Warriors shift, he gives back the stolen jewels. Bucky smiles, thankful – the boy flushes. Crouching down, he returns to them to the water, watching them sink slowly back down to their home.

“Why did you do that?” The boy asks, face scrunched.

“Because it’s where they rightfully belong.” Bucky says, and he gestures back to the borders of the Moors. “C’mon, I’ll walk you back.”

The boy frowns but follows. “What’s your name?”

Bucky glances at him, curious, and answers, “It’s James, but my friends call me Bucky.”

“Oh,” The boy says, and then glances down shyly, “Do you – do you think I could call you Bucky?”

“Oh, sure,” Bucky says. “I mean, if you tell me your name. It’s only fair.”

The boy smiles, barely there, but he does. “It’s Brock.”

Bucky feels his face heat, just enough to notice, as he smiles back. “Nice to meet you, Brock.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bucky snaps awake, chest tight.

He breathes, deep and full to calm his racing heart. Gods, that night had been over a decade ago and he is still haunted by it – taunted by it. He stands in the crumbling, abandoned castle, carefully brushing his hand against the un-sturdy wall as he walks.

The lack of the brush of feathers on his back makes him flinch.

Several weeks since the loss of his wings – the _theft_ of his wings – and he still has trouble. He wonders if he will ever be able to walk without losing his balance. He had tried a walking stick once, but it only served to trip him up or overly depend on it. He needs to be able to walk on his own.

If only he hadn’t trusted Brock – _hadn’t fallen in love with him_ – then he still would have his wings.

Love doesn’t exist. True love, it’s a lie. Brock sold him a lie and he believed him, the naïve fae that he was.

But no longer. Bucky knows it is Brock that stole his wings. Brock drugged him after coming to speak with him for the first time in years since leaving for the human castle. Bucky, stupidly gullible and in love with the charming young man still, had fallen for his ruse hook, line, and sinker, and look where it got him.

The humans would pay for this injustice. Bucky would have his revenge on Brock.

One way or another.

A raven crows, and Bucky turns to look at him. “Shove off.”

The raven flies away.

 

 

 

 

 

The breeze on his back makes him shiver and wince with loss.

 

 

 

 

 

Bucky searches the farmlands in the next few days, when his balance is better and he can carefully walk in slow steps.

He creeps through grown wheat crops as cover, following the sounds of a raven’s loud crying. He finds the raven, under a net and a farmer ready to kill him.

Bucky lifts his hand, red magic flowing around his fingers. The farmer flies back when Bucky moves his hand to the side. By the time Bucky makes his way out of the crops, the farmer is running away, shouting.

Humans. So easily terrified.

Bucky crouches low, careful not to lose his balance, and sets about removing the net. He tosses it to the side and stands as the raven side-eyes him.

He raises an eyebrow. Flicking magic at the bird, he watches as the raven turns to a man.

Curiously, his hair is blond. “Why is your hair that color?”

The man, overbalanced, nearly stumbles in looking at himself. He tugs at his hair. Ignoring the question, the man asks, “What have you done to me?”

“Saved your life,” Bucky deadpans, and the man sends him a look. “What do I call you?”

Warily, the man answers, “Clinton. Clint. Seriously, what have you done?”

“I saved your life,” Bucky says again, and Clint takes a breath and dips his head.

“Right.” Glancing up, Clint continues, “How am I to repay you?”

“I need you to be something for me.”

“What?”

“My wings.”

 

 

 

 

 

Being followed by Clint takes getting used to. Seeing him fly off makes Bucky smash his hand into a wall.

 

 

 

 

 

There’s something brewing in the castle. Rumors of a dead king and a successor chosen. Bucky wouldn’t care about this, except when Clint brings the news, he brings a name.

“ _What_?”

“I think they said his name was Brock,” Clint looks like he wants to shrug, glancing off to the side. “The King – Pierce or Parse or whatever – kicked the bucket from illness. Some servant guy is taking over for doing some great feat. They didn’t go into details.”

Brock is going to be king. Brock – Brock –

Brock stole his wings for _greed?!_

Bucky’s hands curl into fists, teeth clenched. He can feel the magic building in his hands, and he presses the nails into his palm as hard as he can to suppress it.

“Are you sure of this?” He asks, seething. Clint nods, warily, noting his anger. Good. The damn bird needs to learn to fear him. Learn to fear what he can do.

As they all will soon.

 

 

 

 

 

Bucky blocks the borders to the Moors with a wall of black thorns, red magic in his hands and ice in his heart. No human shall ever again enter the Moors.

No human shall hurt them again.

(Them, him, it’s all the same. Humans are despicable creatures.)

 

 

 

 

 

The humans try every now and again to break through, but Bucky is vigilant, and no one gets close. Time passes, as it always does, and Bucky keeps to himself as he rules the Moors. Clint sometimes tries to initiate conversation, but Bucky always turns him back to a raven before he can. The only thing that matter is his revenge on Brock. On the humans.

He could just barge in, attack Brock on his stupid throne, and ruin the human kingdom. But that would be boring. Unsatisfactory. He wants to destroy Brock, take away something he cares about – something that’s part of him – just like he did to Bucky.

An eye for an eye.

 

 

 

 

 

And then, then there’s opportunity.

A child. Not Brock’s, no. Not biologically. But taken in by him all the same. A small orphan infant dropped on the castle door step, and the Queen convinced Brock to take it in and raise it as their own.

“You’re going to hurt a child?” Clint asks, indignant. Bucky glances at him.

“I’m going to hurt Brock.”

“And the child is collateral damage?!”

Bucky deigns not to respond, but there’s something about the words that make them sit like stones in his ribs.

 

 

 

 

 

The child, the boy – Steven – he’s so…small.

“Y’know,” Bucky says, just loud enough over the hush of the crowd. “I never thought you had it in you. Children. Giving your heart to something else. I thought that black thing inside your chest was only capable of loving you.”

“Bucky,” Brock says, his tone a warning and a plea at the same time. Only someone as arrogant and _stupid_ as Brock could pull it off.

“That _is_ my name, but not the one you deserve to call me by,” Bucky says, raising a hand. Clint obligingly lands on it, his raven’s head turning to observe the small child in the carriage. The child is staring at them, oblivious of what’s to come. “So glad you remember it though after what you did to me. But, my name isn’t why I’m here.”

“What are you doing here, then?” Brock asks, slow.

“To bestow a gift on the child, what else?” Bucky says, “Much like the small ones did already.” He can hear the pixies trapped in the chest he magicked them into. The traitors. He’s tempted to deal with them later.

“That is very kind of you,” The Queen says, and Bucky is only slightly saddened by her predicament. She knows no better, and he doesn’t even know her name. Still, her ignorance does not bestow her innocence.

“James,” Brock says.

“Shush,” Bucky murmurs, “ _king._ I am trying to speak.” Brock’s mouth clicks shut.

“The boy shall indeed be adored, and have happy days in his life,” Bucky muses, his other hand raising to meet the first, and Clint moves away. His hands spill red magic. “However, before the sun sets on his sixteenth birthday…” Bucky takes a quick glance around – oh, a spinning wheel. Convenient. “He will prick his finger on a spinning wheel and fall into a sleep-like _death_.”

“James,” Brock pleads, and wow, Bucky didn’t think he had it in him. “Please, don’t do this.”

“Hmmm,” Bucky hums, “I like it when you beg. Keep doing it.”

Brock visibly hesitates. Bucky tilts his head, side-eyeing Clint. Clint’s watching him, and Bucky doesn’t stop to think why.

Slowly, Brock lowers to his knees, and his head dips. Bucky almost feels like laughing. “Please, James.”

Bucky makes a show of thinking over it.

“Well, I suppose, the young Steven could be awakened. But only by… _true love’s kiss_.” He waits for Brock’s reaction, the recognition of the words. When Brock pales, Bucky grins, “This curse shall last until the end of time, and no power on this earth can change it. And so it shall be.”

The red explodes from his hands and the curse is set.

(Now, to play the waiting game. Bucky’s been waiting this long, what’s sixteen more years to a fae?)

 

 

 

 

 

What he doesn’t come to realize is how much more time he spends with Clint as a result.

“Being human is weird,” Clint mumbles, most likely unintended to be heard. Clint is prone to talking to himself, apparently.

“I could make you a mealy worm,” Bucky says, and Clint startles. Oh, so he was talking to himself. Clint whips his head around to Bucky, either cowed or indignant. He’s not quite sure.

“Gross,” Clint says, nose wrinkling. For someone who spent most of his life as a bird, he’s getting human expressions down relatively quickly.

“Rat?”

“No.”

“Mud Slinger?”

“ _No._ ”

“Dog?”

“Do you know what dogs _do_ to ravens? For Moors’ sake, why would you even suggest that?”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

“Those pixies are going to get the boy killed,” Bucky mutters. Clint glances at him, confused, but doesn’t reply. Then, he looks to the small cabin covered in growth. It’s the semi-permanent home to the three in charge of caring for the child until his sixteenth birthday passes.

“No kidding,” Clint finally replies several minutes later, watching as the pixies pay zero attention to the boy. They’re fighting one another. Again. Meanwhile, the infant boy is screaming bloody murder. How can they manage to argue over all that noise? Then again, Darcy and Thor could get pretty rowdy. “We should do something.”

“I wasn’t under the impression that you cared for the boy,” Bucky says, but he knows it’s a lie. Not even a few weeks ago had Clint yelled at him for collateral damage his revenge could cause. But, he’s feeling vindictive, though for no particular reason other than pettiness. The boy is making Bucky feel something – what it is he doesn’t know – and he doesn’t like it one bit.

“I do,” Clint replies vehemently. Just as he thought. “Besides, won’t your revenge be incomplete if Steven dies before the curse takes effect?” Clint sounds spiteful, which is just as well. Bucky doesn’t bother turning him to a bird – yet. Clint’s been getting under his skin lately, but Bucky’s been feeling more settled. In his anger at least, if not his skin. The satisfaction of Brock slowly going insane with paranoia just makes him content, for now. He can stop taking his irritation out on Clint – he knows it’s unfair to him.

(He’s not sure if he’ll ever be comfortable without his wings, no matter how much time has passed or will pass.)

“Then, I guess we’ll have to look after the child,” Bucky concedes with a sigh. “The small thing.”

“Well human babies tend to be small,” points out Clint.

“And what would a raven know of human growth?”

“I don’t come here criticizing your knowledge of weird fashion taste, leave me to my knowledge of humans.”

Bucky takes minor pleasure in the way Clint squawks as he’s turned into a raven once more.

 

 

 

 

 

Bucky has noticed that time either goes reprehensibly slow or frighteningly fast. Sixteen years currently feels like four lifetimes, mostly because it’s only been half a year since Bucky cursed the child.

The sound of the child’s crying more often than not keeps him up at night. The stupidity of Thor, Jane, and Darcy never ceases to amaze him. Jane is one of the smartest pixies out there and yet Bucky doesn’t get how she can let these things happen. How can they sleep through that _loud_ of screaming? Arguing over it is one thing, trying to sleep is another.

And, for Moors’ sake, Bucky needs some kind of sleep - no matter how nightmare-filled his dreams may sometimes be.

“Clint,” Bucky nudges the raven awake. Clint opens his eyes blearily, a weird expression for a bird. “Check on the boy.”

Clint crows, which Bucky takes as an acquiescence despite the fact that it sounds more indignant than anything.  Somebody is not a morning person. Or first light person. Or middle of the night person, if Bucky is really being honest about the hour of the day.

Eventually, Clint goes off, wings flapping. Bucky watches him enter through the open window of the dark cabin. He waits for the cries to stop, and when they do, he breathes a sigh of relief.

Though, now he can hear the faint snoring of the pixies asleep instead.

Of course.

 

 

 

 

 

Bucky wanders some days, out of boredom and the need to move.

(It’s really the need to fly – the need to move his wings and soar. But now it’s just the phantom feeling of his missing wings and it makes him jumpy and irritable to know there’s nothing that helps.)

Clint is beside him in human form, his pace a half step behind.

“You can walk next to me, y’know. You have no problem perching on my shoulder or hand,” Bucky tells him, and Clint takes two quick steps to catch up with him, hands pushed into the black trouser pockets.

“Sometimes this doesn’t feel like the kind of relationship where I help you for helping me,” Clint says softly. “And then sometimes you just turn me into a bird or something for no reason other than you don’t want to talk.”

Bucky side-eyes him, and that weird feeling sits in his ribs again. The one that shows up when Clint says things or does something that seems so _Clint_. Because Clint is someone who cares, who doesn’t stop trying no matter how many times Bucky turns him into a raven, who grins and laughs, and sometimes makes stupid jokes only he laughs at. Because Clint makes Bucky feel a something like Bucky had started to feel a something back when he cursed the boy.

But Bucky doesn’t know what to do about that.

And Bucky doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything.

Clint falls back to his half-step behind pace.

 

 

 

 

 

Bucky’s…not good at social interaction. He used to be, once upon a time. He used to talk to the Mud Slingers, the Tree Warriors, the Water Pixies, and every other creature of the Moors. He used to smile at something funny, show sympathy at bad situations, and offer advice when needed. He used to smile for the sake of something that made him happy, not vindictive satisfaction.

He’s not sure when he lost the ability to even communicate without sounding condescending. He sometimes thinks it was the morning after _that night_ , but maybe it was when he first met Brock. When Brock tainted him with human traits – greed and patronization.

Bucky feels used most days.

But there’s also Clint. Clint, so unlike a human – so like the raven he is. Full of himself, but also considering of others. Smart, smarter than he appears and considerably attractive much like the way Clint sometimes gloats apropos of nothing.

Clint isn’t patronizing, though he has zero problems calling Bucky out on things that he doesn’t like. Which is a lot, from when Bucky casts a spell for fun on the pixies, or rolls his eyes at the antics of the boy.

Clint communicates with body language. Head tilts, chest puffing, hands moving. He says things loudly when he wants to make a point, but his emotion is in his body.

Bucky wonders whether that’s raven or human.

 

 

 

 

 

“The child is bigger now,” Bucky says. The small child has upgraded into walking on tiny wobbly legs. That makes the boy dangerous, though. He has already nearly walked himself off a cliff. Clint had almost had a heart attack, and Bucky had let the boy fall for a few second before catching him.

The lesson hasn’t had its intended effect yet. The boy has already chased birds and butterflies off the cliffs twice more.

“No fear,” Clint heaves a sigh. “It’s almost like Steven likes falling off things without anything to catch him.”

“He’s a stupid child,” Bucky says.

“Maybe he just knows he’ll be caught,” Clint suggests. Bucky shoots Clint a look. Glancing back at the boy, Bucky heaves a sigh. Clint has a point. Unfortunately, he can’t let the boy die.

“He’s smart for a human,” Bucky sighs. Clint grins, so Bucky gestures him back into a raven.

Clint doesn’t even squawk about it, the jerk.

 

 

 

 

 

“What was it like, being a raven?” Clint turns at the question, meeting Bucky’s eyes in surprise. 

Clint frowns, “I’m still a raven. It’s not a _was_. It’s an _is_. I haven’t changed who I am, just my current form.”

“You mean I changed your form,” Bucky says. Clint doesn’t say anything to that, but does dip his head, conceding the point.

“The world’s a lot bigger. It’s easier to hide from predators. Less food needed to eat.”

Bucky hesitates. But then, “And the flying?”

Clint, to Bucky’s relief, pointedly doesn’t look at his back. He only replies, “It’s thrilling. And terrifying. Knowing that if some farmer shoots at me, or a bigger bird comes by, I could fall. Without wings I am powerless as a bird. I would die quickly after that. So, I guess it’s not the flying that terrifies me – it’s the possibility of falling.”

Bucky forces himself to look away from Clint’s eyes – they show far too much emotion for him to handle. Bucky thinks about the weeks learning to walk without wings, and knows Clint has a point.

Without wings, the winged are doomed to fall.

 

 

 

 

 

The boy becomes Steven becomes Steve becomes Stevie. Bucky doesn’t even notice at first. It starts with the day the boy comes running up to Bucky, begging to be picked up. Or really, it starts with the first time Bucky saved him from falling off a cliff. Or maybe, it’s when Bucky was in that castle, staring at the newborn as the newborn stared back with no fear.

Slowly, but surely, Bucky becomes attached. This was never the plan.

“It happens, y’know,” Clint tells him. “People become attached to one another. It’s the way they are. Humans, Moors-folk. It’s all the same. You’re all social creatures.”

“And you?” Bucky bites back, but he doesn’t know why. He’s unsettled. He doesn’t understand why he suddenly wants to protect Steve, but he does. He’s supposed to not care for the child. Steve is supposed to be a means to an end, a revenge plan against Brock. It’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s wrong.

“Ravens mate,” Clint says simply. “We mate for life. That one special partner. We herd in flocks when it’s colder. We’re relatively social.”

Bucky breathes harshly out his nose, trying to stay his anger. There’s no need to be angry at Clint.

“If it makes you feel better, Steve is growing on me, too,” Clint says.

Strangely, it kind of does help a little.

 

 

 

 

 

Clint sits next to Bucky, and Bucky side-eyes him curiously. It’s been relatively quiet today. Thor and Darcy are away getting supplies for their cabin, and Jane is left alone to take care of the four year old Steve. She’s easily the most competent of the three, but only when she’s not dragged into the arguments.

There’s a silence between the two of them, but it’s not uncomfortable. Clint’s close enough to brush shoulders, yet they somehow don’t – almost as if Clint is respecting Bucky’s space.

Clint always gives more than he takes, Bucky’s noticed. It’s maybe time Bucky returns the favor.

Carefully, Bucky minutely shifts, allowing their shoulders to brush. Clint tenses for half a moment, but relaxes nearly instantly.

“There’s a thing I miss about flying,” Bucky murmurs quietly, and Clint turns to look at him. “When I was up high, you could see the Moors to the horizon. You could see every waterfall, every mountain, every tree, river, and lake. No matter how many times I saw it, I was in awe of the place I called my home. I could see the tree I resided in sitting at the top of the cliff it was on, and I knew I was where I belonged.” Bucky looks to the sky. “I don’t think I feel like I belong anymore.”

Clint gives Bucky a moment of silence and then asks softly, “Why don’t you use your magic to fly? I’ve seen you do it to the human soldiers.”

“It wouldn’t be the same. It would feel like a betrayal to my wings,” Bucky absently rubs at his shoulder. Clint nods, understanding, and Bucky gives him a small, grateful smile. Clint blinks and turns away, his face reddening.

Raising a hand, Bucky lets sliver magic dance around his fingers in the silence, and Clint looks back, curious.

“Why does it do that?” He asks.

“What?”

“Your magic. It changes colors,” He continues, and Bucky nods.

“Magic can be simplified into two types: harmless,” Bucky holds up his hand, letting the silver spill over into the grass. A flower emerges and blooms into a tulip. With a small wave, the magic in his hand turns red. “And harmful.” He lets the red drip onto a fallen leaf and watches as it withers. “Most fae only learn the harmless kind, but we all have the capability to learn the harmful magics. Our magic can be influenced by emotion and intent, which is why fae are careful with what we do.”

“So,” Clint starts slowly, as if he doesn’t want to say it but needs to know, “Brock…you learned because of him. Because he stole your wings.”

Bucky glances down, vanishes the magic from his hands, and answers, “Yes.”

Clint blows out a breath. “And you won’t stop until you’ve gotten it?”

Bucky frowns, “No. No, I probably won’t.”

“It won’t bring them back.”

“It won’t,” Bucky agrees. “But this was never about that. This is about humans getting what they deserve.”

Clint rubs his mouth, and he protests, “Not all humans are the same. It’s not all humans, Bucky. It’s just Brock.”

Bucky thinks of young Steve, his golden hair, bright eyes, and blinding grin, and says, “Maybe.”

 

 

 

 

 

The thing is, once Bucky begrudgingly accepts his fondness for Steve, he can’t stop worrying about him. Steve goes from wobbly legs to easy strides and suddenly becomes fifteen years old.

(Time, seriously. Pick a speed already.)

Bucky can’t help the overwhelming need to protect him. Steve is kindness personified, even if he’s stubborn as anything when it comes to standing his ground against the pixies. It’s pretty funny, sometimes, like watching Steve argue with Thor over not letting him out after sun down. Thor loses the argument after Steve breaks out his sad eyes. Bucky snorts so hard he nearly hurts himself.

And really, Bucky wants to break the curse, truly means to, but any time he thinks about it, Brock’s face shows up in his mind’s eye, and he can’t – he just can’t. Steve is Steve, but Brock still has to pay for what he’s done.

 

 

 

 

 

Steve wanders far too close to the borders of the Moors one night. Sneaking away from the protection of the pixies, Bucky thinks wryly, how very adolescent of him.

“He’s gonna hurt himself,” Clint says, perched in a low branch. When Bucky glances up, Clint’s tilting forward precariously, though he knows better than to tell Clint to stop. He won’t fall. “The thorns,” Clint clarifies.

“Possibly,” Bucky says, looking back to Steve. “Perhaps it will teach him to stop snooping.”

“Doubtful,” Clint snorts. “He never stopped running off cliffs, now did he?”

“He stopped eventually.”

Clint rolls his eyes good-naturedly, “I think he gets his stubbornness from you.” Bucky tenses, and Clint leans back at the conversation’s shift in tension.

“Don’t–”

“Don’t compare you two, I know,” Clint says. “Sorry.”

Bucky nods shortly, pressing his lips together. He can’t think about this right now. Then –

Shifting. Murmuring. Metal plates.

“There’s company.”

“Aside from Steve, I assume.”

“Soldiers.”

“Right,” Clint says, jumps down from the branch, and lands neatly next to Bucky. Bucky pivots, heading to the noise. As Clint follows, he adds, “Y’know, you could just show Steve the Moors. It would stop his snooping.”

Bucky’s mouth twists. It could be dangerous, to him, to Steve, to the creatures of the Moors. Still, Steve only has so long left and – “Not tonight.”

“No, of course not,” Clint says, smug. Bucky has a feeling Clint just won some sort of argument.

Damn it.

 

 

 

 

 

The day Bucky shows Steve the Moors is considered one of the best days of Bucky’s life.

“Wow,” Steve breathes as he turns in slow circles. The Moors at night are considered the most beautiful despite Bucky’s partial feelings toward the early morning scenery. It’s when everything comes alive, when everything glows and runs and plays and lives, when the water sounds the most peaceful even though it shouldn’t make a difference, when the fire bugs light up a little brighter even though they always light up the same, when the flowers seem to stand a bit taller in bloom.

Steve bathed in the Moors’ light gives him a soft glow, like a beacon of light in the darkness.

Clint flaps his wings, settling on Bucky’s shoulder as they watch Steve from behind the thickets.

Bucky shifts accommodatingly, just enough for the branches to shift, and apparently enough for young human ears to hear him.

 “Hello?” Steve calls, and Bucky freezes. “I know you’re out there.”

Clint tilts his head minutely, glancing at Bucky questioningly. Bucky presses his lips together and just barely shakes his head no.

“You can come out,” Steve adds, “Don’t be scared.”

Bucky hesitates, then answers, “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Then you can come out,” Steve says encouragingly.

“You’ll be afraid, then,” Bucky replies.

“No, I won’t,” Steve says. Bucky hesitates again and chances a look to Clint. Clint just looks back, leaving the decision to Bucky.

After a deep breath, Bucky carefully crosses his way out of the thicket, finally coming into Steve’s view. Steve’s eyes grow wide, but it’s not with fear.

“It’s you,” Steve says, and Bucky’s brow furrows. “You’re the one who’s been watching over me.”

“I am?”

“Yes,” Steve smiles. “I’ve noticed you out of the corner of my eye since I was small. You’re my guardian.”

“What,” Bucky deadpans.

“You’ve always helped me. Saving me from falls, stopping me from eating something poisoned,” Steve says.

Bucky mumbles, “You’re trouble, Stevie, complete trouble.” Clint cackles, the sound weird as a raven.

“Oh!” Steve lights up at the sight of Clint. “It’s your raven – I remember him too.”

Bucky breathes out through his nose, then sends his silver magic to Clint, allowing him to change back to human. “This is Clinton.”

“Clint, please – also call him James, he’ll prefer that,” Clint smiles. He’s practically oozing friendliness. Steve smiles back as Clint continues, “It’s nice to finally meet officially, Steve.”

“Likewise,” nods Steve, and suddenly he bursts into a big grin with a laugh to accompany it. “I can’t believe I’m in the Moors. It’s a lot more beautiful than I ever imagined. I just want to draw it–”

Bucky cuts off Steve with a small wisp of silver, sending the boy to sleep. Steve floats gently in the air, face peaceful.

“Watching him from afar and talking to him are two totally different things,” Clint notes softly. Bucky exhales, something fond swelling up in his chest.

“Yes,” He agrees quietly, “It is.”

 

 

 

 

 

Steve visits the Moors every day.

From Midday to night fall, Steve traverses through the Moors, speaking to each and every creature, from the Mud Slingers to the Tree Warriors.

The creatures of the Moors come to love Steve as Steve comes to love them.

He sometimes even manages to drag Bucky into it sometimes, slowly easing the fear the Moors-folk still hold for him. Perhaps it’s hard to look fearful with mud on his face after Steve and the Mud Slingers had started a mud fight.

Clint laughs so hard Bucky can’t help but magic mud at Clint. Steve laughs at that, and Bucky can’t help the smile.

Clint is still laughing, despite his ridiculous appearance.

(And Bucky feels the fondness for Clint swelling like he often does for Steve, and thinks _oh_.)

 

 

 

 

 

As all good things seem to do, it doesn’t last.

 

 

 

 

 

Bucky tries breaking the curse one night, his silver magic fighting the red surrounding a slumbering Steve. Steve doesn’t deserve a terrible fate because of what Brock did. But –

It doesn’t work and his words that day come back to haunt him –

_No power on this earth can change it._

 

 

 

 

 

Clint knows Bucky tried to break the curse, but Steve manages to notice Bucky’s dip in mood without knowing why. He’s too polite to ask, but Steve looks at Bucky more often even when he’s preoccupied with other Moors-folk.

Steve will be sixteen in two days.

Bucky’s heart is sitting in the bottom of his stomach.

 

 

 

 

         

He sits down Steve to tell him there’s things in the world Bucky can’t protect him of, and Steve replies that he wants to live in the Moors.

It’s a solution Bucky wants to work, and he says yes to Steve without thinking it through.

Shit.

 

 

 

 

 

Bucky and Clint follow. Bucky’s not panicking, no not at all, but he needs to make sure Steve gets back to the pixies okay.

By the time they catch up, Steve is talking to a boy.

“Who is that?” Clint asks once Bucky changes him back into a man. “He looks like a prince.”

“He _is_ a prince,” Bucky confirms and tries to overhear. The prince is asking for directions. Steve obliges, looking more flushed and shy than Bucky’s ever seen him. Oddly, the prince looks just as captivated.

“Oh, I did not catch your name. How very rude of me,” The prince says, bowing slightly. “Prince Anthony of Stark, though please – call me Tony.”

Steve bows slightly back, grasping Tony’s hand when it’s offered as a shake. “Steven. Steve, please.”

“Steve,” Tony smiles charmingly. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Steve says.

“Isn’t he the answer?” Clint asks suddenly, and Bucky nearly starts. He looks over, eyeing Clint.

“What do you mean?”

“Your curse?” Clint says. “It would be broken by true love’s kiss. They clearly share a connection.”

“Clint, they just met.”

“I’m just saying.”

A moment of silence and then, “True love’s kiss wouldn’t break the curse anyway.”

“Wait,” Clint turns, “What do you mean?”

“I picked true love’s kiss because Brock once said that to me. I picked true love’s kiss because it doesn’t exist. There’s no such thing as true love, Clint.”

Clint lowers his eyes, frowning. “I don’t get-”

“I know ravens are different,” Bucky says, “you told me years ago that ravens mate for life. Humans aren’t like that. They’re incapable of the concept. Infidelity, betrayal – humans are terrible at loving one person and one person only.”

Clint’s silent a moment, and then, “There’s more than one way to love someone.” Bucky turns away, watching Steve and Tony interact.

“Let’s go,” Bucky murmurs.

 

 

 

 

 

“You lied to me!” Steve yells, and Bucky can’t quite suppress the flinch. Steve is sixteen today. He couldn’t protect him.

He failed.

“Stevie-”

“You – my guardians in the cabin – everything has been a lie,” Steve has his hands clenched to fists and Bucky can see the knuckles gone white.

“You’re the one that cursed me,” Steve turns away, head lowering. His voice breaks, “You’re Bucky.”

Bucky briefly, guiltily, entertains the thought of just putting Steve to sleep. He deserves this, though. His error has cost him. “I am.”

“I can’t believe you.”

“Steve, please.”

“Just, stay away from me.” Steve turns and runs, and Bucky realizes too late his hand is stretched toward him.

Clint, for once, is a silent observer.

 

 

 

 

 

“The prince,” Bucky says after who knows how long. “We need the prince.”

Clint turns his head to Bucky, a thousand questions probably on his lips, but he only says: “Then let’s go get him.”

 

 

 

 

 

Bucky can feel when the curse takes place, when the magic is released. He squeezes his eyes shut for a brief moment, regretting the mistake he made, but he quickly opens them.

There’s still a possibility.

“Quickly, Clint,” Bucky urges, and Clint, a strong steady horse, beats on as quickly as he can. Behind them Tony’s horse follows, Tony himself asleep, courtesy of magic, on it.

But when they arrive to the castle, Bucky forces them to a stop. He jumps from Clint’s back, changing him back into a man again.

“What is it?” Clint asks. Beyond them is a thorny maze of metal.

“It’s iron,” Bucky answers, letting his hand draw close. He can feel the metal heating the closer he gets. “It burns fae.”

“Brock seems highly prepared,” Clint says, “The soldiers we fought a while ago had iron swords as well. But how does he know?”

“He burned me once, when we were small. It was an accident,” Bucky explains as they start to navigate through the iron. Bucky makes sure to keep the sleeping Tony following behind. The horse can wait outside. “He had an iron ring. He clearly remembered.”

Clint frowns.

In the silence, Bucky feels the need to add, “You don’t have to come you know. This isn’t your fight.”

Clint pauses in his steps, and Bucky forces himself to keep going. He’s minorly surprised when the steps resume, and burns himself on the arm as a reward. Ow.

“Please,” Clint says with a smile in his voice, “you wouldn’t last without me.”

“Stubborn raven.”

“I’m your favorite raven, though.”

(Bucky rolls his eyes, but it’s fond.)

 

 

 

 

 

“The pixies are inside,” Bucky says, floating Tony over to the closed double doors. “They’ll investigate the noise, and when they learn he’s a prince, they’ll bring him in.”

“What noise?” Clint asks. Bucky releases his hold on Tony, letting the boy thump to the floor. “Oh, that noise.”

The doors open to reveal Thor, Jane, and Darcy. Bucky and Clint watch as they bring in the now awake Tony, and then they sneak over to watch the proceedings. They slip in through the open door, swiftly moving to the right to hide behind the privacy partition there.

Bucky’s chest is tight with nerves and anxiety. Steve looks so peaceful, like he’s sleeping (like his curse intended, his mind supplies darkly). Tony is hesitant to kiss Steve, even with the pixies urging.

Bucky startles when Clint grabs his hand. He glances at Clint from the corner of his eye, but Clint only offers a squeeze of his hand. Bucky squeezes back.

Looking back, Tony is leaning down, and Bucky watches the exact moment they kiss. Seconds go by before Tony pulls back.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Steve sleeps on.

“It didn’t work,” Jane says quietly.

“It’s just the wrong person!” Darcy proclaims, and she tugs at Tony, who follows, blatantly confused.

“Hey, what’re you-” Tony stumbles along until the four of them are out of the room, the doors shut.

The silence that descends feels suffocating. Bucky moves closer to Steve, slow, cautious. Clint is close behind, steps steady and silent reassurance. Bucky barely registers that Clint is still holding his hand.

“I’m sorry Stevie,” Bucky says. He closes his eyes for a moment, the sight of his error too much. “I’m sorry that I did this. I’m sorry I used you against Brock. I promise-” Bucky swallows- “I promise to protect you for as long as I live.”

Bucky takes a deep breath, then very gently, presses a kiss to Steve’s forehead. He pulls back.

“Let’s go,” Bucky says, his voice soft. Clint nods, stepping away. Exhaling slowly, Bucky follows.

And then –

“Hello, James.”

Bucky whips around so quickly he drags Clint along, who makes a small sound of pain. Bucky manages to squeeze Clint’s hand in apology, but he’s otherwise stuck to the spot. Steve is sitting up, looking straight at him.

“Hello, Stevie,” Bucky whispers, afraid to step closer. “You know, my friends, family – they call me Bucky.”

Steve smiles, and regardless of what he has heard with the name, he still says, “Hello, Bucky.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“We have to get out of here,” Bucky tells Clint and Steve, and they both nod. “We’ll backtrack to the front of the castle.”

Bucky is taking point, Steve in the middle, and Clint covering the rear. It’s eerily quiet as they make their way toward the main foyer, and Bucky’s hackles are raised.

Bucky slips into the main foyer, magic starting to spin around his fingers, just in case.

And then the iron net falls.

“Damn you-!” Bucky groans and slips down to his knees. It burns, it burns, it _burnsburnsburns_.

“Bucky!” Clint shouts, fighting off several of the soldiers. “Steve, run!”

“But-”

“Stevie, go,” Bucky bites, tapering into another groan. Clint’s tackled by a soldier, and Bucky watches as Steve runs off. Disoriented, he turns his head toward Clint, and manages to raise a hand. “ _Into a dragon_.”

The silver magic shoots from his fingers, and Clint roars. He picks up and throws off the net over Bucky, tossing it harshly at advancing soldiers. Fire blows from his mouth then, forcing the soldiers back and away, but not for long.

The iron is disorienting, too much in one space to deal with. Bucky stumbles, and is quickly pushed back near a corner by the soldiers. They’re circling, iron shields banging on the ground, and there’s just too many.

 

 

 

 

 

(Steve runs into a room with a glass case, trying to catch his breathe. Glancing up, he stills at what he sees.

Wings.)

 

 

 

 

 

Bucky stumbles away, and Brock appears – decked out in full iron armor and a chain in his hand.

When Bucky manages to right himself, Clint is being pulled down by chains, mouth forced shut. Damn it.

“Bucky,” Brock seethes.

“Don’t call me that. You do not get to call me that name,” Bucky grits out. “You betrayed me.”

“You are a monster,” Brock says, and Bucky shouts in pain as the chain hits him in the back. He trips forward, catching himself on his hands. “You will die because you are a monster, and you are not loved.”

 

 

 

 

 

(The glass case shatters as it’s toppled, and solid wings beat their way free.)

 

 

 

 

 

Bucky coughs harshly, caught on the floor. Brock comes closer, sword raised. But then, there’s the sound of wing beating in the air, and Bucky feels something in his chest.

“No!” Brock turns, and Bucky scrambles to stand. His wings are closer and closer and –

A fusion and a light and then there’s a weight back where it belongs. Bucky shoots himself up, wings weakened but still strong enough, and he can turn the tide of the fight.

He knocks into a chandelier; it crashes into a group of the soldiers holding Clint down. Clint immediately takes the chance to break free, fire shooting at the soldiers once more.

The two of them can and do clear the room, and Bucky grabs Brock. It burns but he shoots through a stained glass window, bringing them around to a balcony. Brock drops and Bucky lands in a crouch.

“It’s over, Brock,” Bucky says, “It’s over.”

“It is not over,” Brock growls and pounces at Bucky without warning. Bucky grunts, thrown over the edge. Muscle memory kicks in, allowing him to twist to right himself, but Brock falls from his grip.

It feels…anticlimactic.

Bucky stares, long after Brock has hit the bottom.

It feels anticlimactic, but he has other worries to attend to.

He goes to find Clint.

 

 

 

 

 

Bucky finds Clint in the main foyer, injured but alive. “Into a raven,” He says, and the wisp of silver changes Clint over into the bird. Bucky scoops him up as Clint crows weakly, eyes closing in exhaustion. “It’s over. You’re alright. Rest.”

“Bucky!” Steve calls, and Bucky carefully whips around as he comes down the steps. “You’re okay – your wings!”

“They’re where they belong. But they need the rest,” Bucky says. It’s true. His wings feel heavy with fatigue, and Bucky knows it will take time and effort for them to come back to full strength once again. “They haven’t been used in a long time.” Steve smiles, relieved.

Bucky still has to tell Steve about Brock’s fate, and there’s the matter of what will happen between the humans and the Moors-folk now that the human king is gone.

But for now, they’re safe.

 

 

 

 

 

Bucky takes Clint back to his tree in the Moors to rest and recover, turned back into human form to wrap the wounds easier. He’s been asleep for several days, while Bucky and Steve discuss what to do with the kingdoms. They’re thinking of uniting them. Steve will lead them. Prince Tony is willing to discuss an alliance with the kingdom once it’s united, eager to do so.

(Bucky’s been watching Steve and Tony talk and interact – the shy flirting and courting by Tony – and he can’t help but smile a little.)

“Bucky,” a voice says. Bucky turns from his perch in the tree, looking to see a bleary-eyed Clint. He’s looking better.

“Hey,” Bucky shifts closer, “How’re you feeling?”

“Tired,” Clint says. “Being a dragon was really amazing.”

Bucky can’t help the fond smile that appears. “I’ve never made you that big of an animal before. It exhausted you. I’m sorry about that.”

“Told you that you needed me,” Clint teases. Bucky sighs, but he also gives in to the urge to run his hand through Clint’s hair.

“I was thinking, it’s unfair for me to keep you thinking you’re just someone to fly around for me.”

“Especially because you have your wings now,” Clint says, glancing at them. “They okay?”

“I have to build their strength back up. It’ll be awhile,” Bucky says. “But, that wasn’t what I was saying. You stood by me at the castle anyway. I really appreciate it, Clint. Thank you.”

Clint flushes, “It’s okay, Bucky. I’ve been willing to help you for over a decade now.” Clint reaches for Bucky’s hand, squeezing gently. “I’d like to stay by your side, if that’s okay.”

“You – you mean?” Bucky sure hopes he’s not misinterpreting.

“Ravens _do_ mate for life,” Clint smiles.

“I’ve been reliably informed before,” Bucky says, a small smile twisting at his lips. “Are you sure, though? I’m not the best fae.”

“Please,” Clint snorts, “I saw past your prickly exterior a decade ago.” He sits up gingerly, leaning toward Bucky. “James-Bucky-Fae-” Bucky snorts- “Would you do me the honor of being my mate?”

“Clinton-Clint-Raven,” Bucky says, “it would be my honor.” Clint grins, and Bucky gently kisses him.

“When we’re both feeling better, we’re going flying for sure.”

Bucky has a feeling this time around that this love, and his love for Steve, won’t end in betrayal.

Bucky presses his forehead against Clint’s, feeling more content than he ever has. “I’m looking forward to it.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](http://torii-storii.tumblr.com/)


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